


Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered Am I

by colazitron



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, Getting Together, Halloween Costumes, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27301099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: Look, just because Ryan looks good dressed as Indiana Jones, or dressed in various other things, and just because Shane maybe has a feeling or two about it, doesn't mean it's a thing, okay? Shane's got this.Or: 5 times Shane had a feeling about Ryan's outfit, +1 time he did something about it
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 32
Kudos: 194
Collections: Skeptic Believer Book Club Hallowe'en Fic Exchange 2020





	Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered Am I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [7_Magpies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/7_Magpies/gifts).



> Giftee, dearest, your prompts were delightful. I looked at them and thought "oh, I can make this a 2-in-1 special" and somehow that lead me here, to where this fic isn't really either but does have hints of both. I hope you'll still enjoy it!
> 
> Also, because I said I would, I blame Jo for all of this. If she hadn't encouraged/coerced me into doing this, we wouldn't be here. And since, despite my complaining, I had a great time writing this, I suppose by 'blame' I really mean 'thank'. ❤

**I. Indiana Bergara and the costume of doom**

When Ryan walks out of the bathroom in khakis, a white shirt, a satchel strung across his chest and that hat perched on his head, Shane’s mind splits clean in two.

One part wants to laugh hysterically, because while Shane hasn’t really been able to think beyond generic geek things to pull from his own closet, Ryan’s gone above and beyond and fully committed to the bit by dressing up as the OG treasure hunter, the man, the myth, the legend, Dr. Henry “Indiana” Jones himself. It’s funny, it must have taken some effort, and it’ll play so well on camera. Shane is honestly impressed and delighted, and would very much like to express his appreciation for the effort and execution to his friend.

The other part, however, barrels right past the incredible comedy, right off track into a the gutter beside that train of thought that doesn’t look at Ryan wearing this costume and thinks “funny”, but that looks at Ryan wearing these clothes and thinks “holy shit, that’s a body under there”.

Of course Shane knows Ryan has a body; there’s no such thing as ghosts, yadda yadda. And of course Shane knows quite well what that body looks like. They’ve done numerous shoots together over the years that required, or just lent themselves to, Ryan taking his shirt off. Even outside of that, Ryan isn’t shy about his body and he dresses in a way that highlights all the ways he’s shaped it into generally accepted attractiveness.

It’s just not something that Shane is used to noticing the way he does when Ryan’s body is taken so thoroughly out of the context of his usual t-shirts and bro tanks and jerseys, or even the occasional suit if formal wear is called for. There’s something about the intersection of a character Shane loves, a person Shane loves, and the newness of Ryan swinging a bulky leather jacket over shoulders that are already making that white shirt do a  _ lot _ of work, that short-circuits Shane’s brain and strikes him silent for probably far too long.

At least Ryan doesn’t call him out for it, and as soon as they cut and Ryan beams at him, self-satisfied and always looking for validation anyway, he slots back into the Ryan-shaped space inside Shane’s mind.

“Like it?” Ryan goads, and Shane laughs.

“I tip my hat to you,” Shane says, and does, reaching up for the brim of his own hat. “You really went the extra mile.”

Ryan’s grin widens, and he shrugs his shoulders. “When else does a guy get an opportunity to pretend to be Indiana Jones on company time?”

“A career well-chosen,” Shane agrees, and lets Ryan thump him on the shoulder in camaraderie, following him out to the car.

The rest of the day goes by like any other all-day shoot they have, except brighter. It’s rare that they get to be out in the sun for this, traipsing about nature to look for a treasure they have a snowball’s chance in hell of finding. That doesn’t mean Shane doesn’t let himself get swept up in it, or that they don’t pour their all into it, but by the end of it, the fact that Ryan’s long since abandoned the leather jacket, rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt halfway down his chest doesn’t register as anything more than typical Ryan behaviour. He always runs hot.

While shooting during daylight hours may be a novelty for them, it turns out shooting all day rather than all night is only marginally less exhausting. Between the long stretches of driving Ryan and he traded off, the traipsing through the wilderness, and the whole being On for the camera thing, Shane finds himself yawning and rubbing at his face, trying to stave off the tiredness by the time they’re at their hotel. TJ and Ryan are bent over TJ’s phone in some quiet conversation, Mark is apparently knitting again, and Devon - actually, shouldn’t Devon be back with their room keys by now?

Shane turns to look across the lobby to the reception desk and feels the distinct uh-oh of his stomach sinking when he sees Devon gesture at her phone rather emphatically, while the somewhat harried-looking receptionist types away at her computer. Turning back to Ryan, Shane stretches out one leg to nudge him in the ankle. Ryan reflexively kicks him back without looking, so Shane nudges him a little more firmly, a small grin on his face.

“What?” Ryan asks, more amused than annoyed.

Shane nods his head towards the front desk. “I think Devon needs rescuing.”

Could Shane be the one doing the rescuing himself? Sure. But the couch he’s slumped down onto is a little too comfortable, and Ryan is already up, so.

“That doesn’t look good,” Ryan comments.

Shane hums his agreement. “Looks like a job for you, Mr. Executive Producer.”

Ryan shoots him a look that lets Shane know how very much Ryan is aware that Shane could go and take care of this and just doesn’t want to, but he detaches himself from his conversation with TJ anyway. “Alright. I’ll go see what’s going on.”

Shane watches him go, still decked out in full Indiana Bergara regalia, and grins to himself a little when the receptionist does a just barely noticeable double take. When he looks back and meets TJ’s gaze, he shifts the grin into the most angelically innocent expression he can manage, earning himself a - fond! - eyeroll.

“Lazy fucker.”

Shane shrugs, unrepentant. Ryan’s got him wrapped around his finger just as much. They live in a very mutual, harmonious symbiosis of laziness, and TJ sinks down onto the couch next to him himself, so he’s got no legs to stand on re: laziness anyway.

It’s not long before Ryan and Devon come back to join them again, the latter’s expression a little stormier than the former’s.

“Good news and bad news,” Ryan announces, while Devon continues to scroll through her phone with the kind of expression that says she’s only got bad news and worse news.

“Okay,” Shane says, “let’s hear it.”

“Good news is they’ve offered us a free drink at the bar,” Ryan says, looking directly at Shane, like maybe these news, good and bad, are specifically for Shane. There’s a way Ryan says ‘us’ that means the whole team, and there’s an ‘us’ that’s just Shane and him. This feels suspiciously like that.

“And the bad?”

“The bad is they don’t have a room for us,” Ryan says and shrugs with a sigh. “There was a mistake with the reservation apparently and because there’s some sort of convention thing happening in town they literally do not have any other room available. The girl at the front desk is calling around to find us something.”

“I’m really sorry, Shane,” Devon says, looking contrite as she finally puts away her phone. “I don’t know what happened. They confirmed the booking of all the rooms and everything.”

“Not your fault,” Shane says, because he knows Devon’s diligent as all hell when it comes to making sure they’re all taken care of. “You guys got your rooms though?”

“Yeah, but they’re a twin and a single, so there’s no way we can cram you in there with us unless you want to sleep on the floor,” she says with another sigh. “They don’t even have any cots.”

Shane’s not wild about cots anyway. They’re always too short for him and sleeping with his feet dangling over the edge or his knees pulled up on a tiny cot are both not particularly relaxing.

“Well, alright then,” he says. “Do you want help carrying up some stuff while we wait?”

“One of you should probably stay here, just in case the receptionist comes looking for you about the new place,” Devon points out.

Shane nods along and then meets Ryan’s eyes again. “You stay; they already know to look for you.”

“Alright,” Ryan agrees easily. He’s almost definitely going to be the one driving them, so Shane figures he’s earned himself a small break. “I’ll get that drink. You want anything?”

“Espresso?”

“Sure thing,” Ryan grins. “Just come find me and we’ll get that bean juice in ya.”

“Gross,” Shane says, pleased, and then slaps his palms onto his thighs, willing himself to push up from the couch. TJ and Mark get up with him, idle chatter starting up again as they make their way back down to the garage to get their stuff. Since Ryan and he are going to need the car and they don’t yet know where they’ll be able to park it, it’s best to just get all the fancy, expensive equipment out and taken care of. They’re all just a little paranoid about that.

“I hope they find you something nice,” TJ says, clapping Shane on the shoulder when they’ve got everything out, locking the car again and handing Shane the keys.

“Given the places we’ve slept for this show, so long as it’s clean it’ll be an upgrade,” Shane quips, making TJ laugh a sharp sound.

“True, true.”

It doesn’t take long at all to carry their stuff up, so Shane finds himself back downstairs looking for Ryan at the hotel bar barely twenty minutes later. He finds him studying his phone, and Shane gently touches a hand to Ryan’s shoulder when he reaches him, so as not to startle him too much. Ryan looks up with a grin, and puts the phone down. True to his word, he’s got a tiny cup of espresso waiting for Shane when he leans onto the bar stool beside his. It’s even still hot, so Ryan can’t have ordered it too long ago.

“Any news?”

“They found us a room,” Ryan says. “It’s a bit out of the way, but the directions seem fairly straight forward. Shouldn’t take us more than half an hour to get there.”

“Blessed be,” Shane says, swallowing the espresso in two small sips. “Well, let’s go. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Ryan shakes his head at him and grins, picking his hat up from the counter and tucking the brim down over his eyes like he actually is Indy. The way he grins and holds Shane's gaze as he does it practically dares him to comment, so naturally Shane can't give him the satisfaction. Ryan laughs, because he knows exactly what Shane is - or isn’t - doing, and then just turns on his heel to head down to the garage.

“Apparently the room they got us is in this little B&B, so it’ll probably be a little, uh, cozier than it would have been here. But the beds should be big enough for all your limbs at least,” he teases as they get on the elevator.

“It is a burden,” Shane says, affecting as sigh, “to be blessed with six miles of leg.”

“You should unionize,” Ryan suggests, leaning against the mirrored wall of the elevator after pushing the button to take them down to the garage.

Shane grins. “Me and all the other six-mile-legs havers?”

“Yeah. Demand better conditions. Bigger beds.”

“More leg room on air planes and in cars,” Shane adds.

“Exactly!” Ryan agrees, thinking for a second. “Longer pant legs too, so your slutty, little ankles aren’t always out.”

“Don’t slutshame my ankles,” Shane complains, uncrossing said ankles to follow Ryan out to their car when the elevator doors open to the garage.

“If the slutty pants fit…” Ryan teases, throwing a grin over his shoulder at Shane.

Shane hums and looks down to pull at the fabric over his thighs. “I didn’t know khakis did it for ya, but follow your bliss, man. Just let me know if these bad boys ever get too distracting for you. I wouldn’t want to create a hostile work environment.”

Ryan wheezes out a laugh and shakes his head. “Those chicken legs? No need to worry.”

“Chickens have quite thick thighs,” Shane comments idly, just because he knows it’ll make Ryan laugh again. Sure enough, he does.

“You’re right, my bad,” he says. “They’re also much shorter than yours. Yours are more like… stork legs.”

“Oh, very good,” Shane agrees, and digs the car keys out of his pocket when they come up to their car, tossing them easily over to Ryan. “Stork legs is much better. If I hold them into the sun for too long, they turn just as red too!”

“Just get in, you idiot,” Ryan says, unlocking the doors with the press of a button and then sliding into the driver’s seat himself. He drove them here, so the seat’s still where he prefers it and Shane stifles a little smile thinking about the annoyed noise he always makes when he gets in the driver’s seat after Shane’s taken his turn driving them somewhere.

Ryan’s a very conscientious driver; hands at ten and two, seat upright, periodically checking his mirrors so he knows who’s coming up behind him. He changes lanes rather than braking when he can, and leaves ample time to slow to a halt rather than braking abruptly when he can’t. Shane’s heard him count seconds under his breath to make sure he’s not too close to the car in front of them. It’s nice, given how much time they spend in cars together, that Ryan’s one of those drivers that Shane feels perfectly relaxed in a car with.

It’s also why he falls asleep almost the very moment Ryan pulls out of the hotel garage, and doesn’t wake again until he pulls the key out of the ignition at their destination.

“Fuck,” Shane mumbles, startling awake and immediately feeling the crick in his neck from how his head must have slumped forward in his sleep.

“Back with us?” Ryan asks, and adds, when Shane reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, “Sorry, I tried to push your head back, but your big, old noggin wouldn’t stay put.”

“Yeah, it does that,” Shane agrees, lowering his hands again and unbuckling his seatbelt. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep on ya. Sorry.”

“No worries,” Ryan waves him off. “Let’s just grab our stuff and go in. You want to order in some dinner later?”

The way Shane’s stomach twinges at the mention of food answers that question well enough. He nods even though Ryan can’t see him as he stumbles out on his side of the car, his legs not fully cooperating again yet.

“Yeah, I could murder a whole pizza, if we can find any.”

Ryan groans on the other side of the car, his door falling shut with a decisive thud. “Dude, same.”

Now that the sun’s down, the temperatures are falling again rapidly, and Shane pulls his vest closer around himself, watching Ryan shrug the heavy leather jacket back on as he rounds the car to meet Shane at the trunk.

“You really outdid yourself with that,” Shane says, nodding at Ryan’s outfit.

Ryan beams proudly. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. The fans’ll love it.”

“It felt a little silly for a moment, not gonna lie,” Ryan says, hefting his overnight bag over his shoulder.

Shane reaches for his own bag and snorts a laugh. “Surely not sillier than the pilgrim costumes.”

“No,” Ryan concedes, still smiling. “Not sure we’re ever going to top that, to be honest.”

“I’m good with that,” Shane says, reaching for the trunk lid. “Got everything?”

Ryan nods and stands back, locking the car once Shane’s slammed the trunk shut. The B&B looks to be a converted farm house, maybe, the interior a lot homier than the hotel they just came from had been. But it all looks relatively new, and, most importantly, clean, so Shane releases a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d held, and lets Ryan lead them over to the reception area.

“Hello! Welcome to The Fox Burrow, I’m Mariana” the woman behind the counter greets them jovially. She looks to be in her mid 50s, maybe, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, a long necklace around her neck and what Shane guesses is a wedding ring on her ring finger. Seems like a real mom and pop kind of place, then. “You the two poor misplaced boys Kelly called about?”

Ryan smiles and takes off his hat, setting his bag down by his feet before stepping up to the counter, smooth and polite the way he always is.

“Yeah, that must be us, if you’re not expecting another pair of lost souls.”

Mariana laughs. “No, I’m afraid we couldn’t even if we wanted to. You two boys have snapped up the last of our rooms!”

“We’re lucky, then,” Ryan says with another smile, grabbing a pen when she slides a form for him to fill out over the counter.

“Is he always such a charmer?” she turns to Shane to ask.

Shane laughs, watching Ryan duck his head a little. “Oh, definitely. Can’t take him anywhere.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” she says. “He’s got that look.”

Ryan shifts his weight on his feet, squirming under a compliment he both loves and doesn’t want to love the way he always does.

“What look is that?” Shane digs, trying to tamp down a smile.

“The look of a man who can dress up as Indiana Jones and know he won’t look ridiculous,” she teases, and Shane lets out a surprised laugh.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” he grins. Before he can try and goad her into vaguely flirting with Ryan some more, a man joins them from a back room, phone in hand and looking a little worried.

“Robert doesn’t sound so hot. Will you be okay here if I go check on him?” he asks, winding an arm around her waist as he pulls closer. The husband, Shane assumes, and glances at his hand without thinking, finding a matching ring there.

“You’re such a worrywart,” she teases him, but kisses him sweet and quick and then pulls out of his embrace to give him a pat on the shoulder. “But go hold your boyfriend’s hand, make sure he doesn’t sneeze himself into a coma. I’ll be fine here.”

Shane can feel himself frown, undoing the previous conclusion and trying to rearrange the picture before him.

The man just leans in for another quick kiss and then moves away to grab a jacket off a hook, disappearing out the front door. Mariana watches him go and then shakes her head.

“Men,” she says, teasing glint back in her eyes. “Hopeless, the lot of you.”

Shane’s still trying to work out what’s happening, so he can’t quite disagree with her.

“Been married to that man for twenty years,” she adds, a shrewd look on her face when she meets Shane’s gaze. “You’d think I’d have worked out how to calm him down.”

Shane shrugs, recalibrating again. Sometimes, husbands have boyfriends. “Some people are just like that.”

Mariana’s face opens up into a smile again, nodding at him. “I suppose that’s true.”

Ryan’s finally done with the form then, sliding it back over the counter and righting himself again, shoulders rolling under his jacket.

“Well then, let’s see what we’ve got for you,” Mariana says, grabbing the form and typing something into her computer. “What brings you two out here all the way from LA anyway?”

“Uh, we’re shooting this show about unsolved mysteries-- well, crime and ghosts usually,” Ryan starts, “but we’re doing one on the Forrest Fenn treasure right now. I promised this one I’d take him out into nature every season.”

“Oh, how fun! We get a few of those,” Mariana says and then looks up, cocking an eyebrow. “Find anything?”

Ryan sighs ruefully. “Sadly, no.”

"Well, I'm sure you two still had your fun." Mariana beams back at Ryan, and Shane follows her gaze, wondering if Ryan caught onto the implications in her tone. If he did, he doesn’t say anything about it.

After a bit more typing, Mariana turns around to grab them the last set of keys off the board of hooks behind her. “It’s not our biggest room, so you’re probably going to have to cuddle up a little, but I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“All we need is a bed,” Ryan says with an unfaltering smile that’s probably meant to be polite, but makes Mariana grin like the cat with the canary and wink at Ryan. Shane almost manages to hold back a surprised laugh.

Mariana winks at him too.

“Well, we do breakfast from seven to ten. Give me a holler if you want in. Check-out by eleven, please.”

“Sure, thanks,” Ryan says. “That’s plenty of time for us.”

He takes the keys and passes one on to Shane before bending down for his bag. Mariana watches him shamelessly, and shoots Shane a not at all discreet thumbs up that Ryan catches the tailend of when he rights himself again. Ryan looks between them for a moment, confused, but seems to decide it’s not worth it and shrugs it off, turning instead towards the stair.

“What were you two giggling about?” he asks as soon as they’re out of ear shot, and Shane grins at him, waggling his eyebrows with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.

“I think she was congratulating me on getting to tap that,” he says, gesturing vaguely in Ryan’s direction with his free hand.

Ryan makes a noise somewhat akin to a startled rooster, and Shane huffs another laugh.

“What the fuck?” Ryan asks, but he’s moved on to laughing too.

“She was telling us we’d have to cuddle and you said ‘all we need is a bed’ after basically telling her we were here on a romantic get-away. She drew a conclusion!” Shane says, grinning widely.

Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up comically far on his forehead, and then he sighs and folds in on himself like a lawn chair.

“Oops.”

Shane laughs again. “Yeah, oops.”

“You could have said something,” Ryan mumbles, cheeks a little flushed if Shane’s not entirely mistaken, turning away from Shane to look for their room number.

“I didn’t want to pull an awkward no homo manoeuvre after you’d walked us into that,” Shane explains.

Ryan sighs and nods. “Fair. Sorry.”

“Man, I don’t care,” Shane says. “I just want to put my feet up, eat, shower, and sleep.”

“Solid plan,” Ryan agrees.

They find their room at the end of the hallway. It is a little on the smaller side, but the bed is still a generous queen size, so they probably won’t actually have to do any cuddling at all. Ryan claims the side furthest from the window, as he usually does, and Shane lets himself and his bag fall down onto the untouched side of the bed, groaning pleasantly.

“Tired?” Ryan asks.

Shane hums his assent and then busies himself taking off his shoes and peeling off his vest. He undoes a few buttons at his neck and rolls up his sleeves before pulling his feet up onto the bed and letting himself fall onto his back.

“That espresso didn’t do anything for you, did it?” Ryan teases.

Shane grins up at the ceiling, sprawling out on his side of the bed. “We can’t all turn into the energizer bunny the second we look at a cup of coffee.”

“Yuck it up,” Ryan says. “If you want, the energizer bunny can take care of the food and you can have the first shower?”

“Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to butter me up,” Shane says, faking a gasp and turning to Ryan with a mock-scandalised expression. “Mr. Bergara, you’re trying to seduce me!”

Ryan sighs, but he’s grinning, so his chagrin is not very believable. “Sure.”

“Well, I’m not that kinda gal, but I’d love some pizza and a shower.”

Ryan rolls his eyes at him and then waves his hands in the general direction of the en suite bathroom, turning to his phone. He's still got the jacket on, big on his shoulders but somehow not too big. The way he's got one leg pulled up onto the bed stretches the khakis he's wearing over his thigh, and his hair is a rumpled mess from sweating under his hat all day and running his hands through it whenever he gets frustrated or needs to think. (Which is very often, when you're Ryan Bergara. Not that Shane's any better.)

He looks… good. He looks like the kind of man Shane can't begrudge Mariana making those jokes about. Confident and at ease in his body in a way that Shane knows is hard-earned, but tricks even him into thinking it's always come easy to Ryan sometimes. There's a glow to his skin in the soft light of the bedside lamps that doesn't lend itself to any colour so much as golden. He looks like a luxury you could nevertheless reach out and touch. Like those ridiculously expensive sneakers of his that Ryan still wears because that's what shoes are goddamn for.

He looks… precious.

And Jesus fuck, Shane really needs that shower to set his head right, apparently.

His cheeks feel a little flushed as he turns away from Ryan to stare up at the ceiling again, counting nubs in the popcorn texture there so he won't count his heartbeats. (He already knows they're coming too fast, damnit.)

“Well, alright, I'll go shower then,” he says, more to make sure his voice still sounds as it should and to remind his body what's next in the agenda, than because he thinks Ryan needs to hear it. Sure enough, Ryan only hums a brief acknowledgement and doesn't even look up from his phone.

So Shane grabs his toiletries and a change of clothes from his bag, and when he re-joins Ryan on the bed, any thoughts of Ryan’s shoulders or thighs or skin have been washed away. It’s been a strange day. Shane’s gonna cut himself some slack on any strange thoughts. Ryan informs him pizza’s on the way and then goes to have his own shower. By the time they’re cross-legged on the bed with two pizza boxes and tired chatter between them, Shane’s forgotten all about that moment of madness.

**II. Once, twice, three times a jacket**

Ryan’s taken to wearing his Indiana Jones jacket as casual wear and Shane would really like to know why he even notices. Or rather, of course he notices it because he has two more or less functioning eyeballs and it’s not like Ryan’s previously been in the habit of wearing bulky leather jackets, so it sort of stands out. Even now it’s only the third time Shane’s seen it make an appearance, but twice is coincidence and three times is the emergence of a pattern, right?

What Shane really wants to know, is why he cares. Why the visual of Ryan with that brown leather draped over him makes something in his mind sit up and take _ notice _ . The kind of notice that feels suspiciously like appreciation. That makes his eyes linger on Ryan’s shoulders and slide down to his tapered waist like that means anything to Shane. Like, come on. It doesn’t.  _ It doesn’t. _

Of course Ryan’s an attractive man and of course Shane doesn’t mind saying so. That’s just an observation of fact. Pretending it’s not true would be much sillier than just acknowledging that Ryan’s a looker. Shane’s been well aware of it since they met, even though Ryan still had a few leftovers of the typical awkward college duckling phase to shed.

Shane’s been right there while Ryan grew more confident and comfortable in his body. Sometimes he even flatters himself in thinking he may have had a little positive influence on Ryan. Not as any sort of role model, because god knows what Shane wants his body to do and look like is miles away from Ryan’s ideals, but maybe some of Shane’s aggressively blasé attitude eventually rubbed off on him. It’s not even that Shane doesn’t at all care what people think of him or the way he looks, he’s just decided he’s going to give less weight to what strangers think. Sometimes it’s an effort, sure, but what isn’t? You gotta wrangle your own thoughts sometimes.

All of that to say that Shane’s familiar with the facts, and he’s a master thought wrangler. So what that Ryan’s, as the kids say, a hottie. (That’s probably not what the kids say. The kids would probably call him “daddy” and ask to be rawed, but that’s not vocab Shane will ever adopt.) That doesn’t mean anything to Shane. That’s never meant anything to Shane in the history of their friendship.

So it’s just very inconvenient that now when Ryan shrugs that thrice-damned leather jacket off his shoulders, Shane’s eyes linger. They’re sitting down to have lunch outside the office, having escaped for a brief respite after a morning full of meetings about the launch of the BU network channel, and Shane’s helplessly watching Ryan adjust the cuffs of his short-sleeved button-up shirt over his arms.

Shane’s attention springs back up to his face when Ryan makes a noise that’s half groan, half sigh, rubbing a hand over tired eyes before giving Shane an equally tired smile. Shane smiles back in commiseration, face heating with a faint flush for some goddamn reason. He just hopes it doesn’t show.

“I didn’t think this would be that draining,” Ryan says, all but melting against the backrest of his chair.

“We knew it’d be a lot of work,” Shane reminds him.

“Work, sure,” Ryan says. “But this isn’t work, man. Why even launch the network if they’re fighting us on every single step? Either they let us do our own thing or they don’t. These half-measures are kind of pissing me off.”

Shane sighs because there’s really nothing he can say to disagree. Ruining History isn’t even through the final editing stages yet and there’s already talk about the kind of goals it’ll have to meet for a second season to even be considered. Shane’ll be proud of it either way, but he can’t help but feel like he’s being set up to fail before anything’s even fully off the ground.

“Whatever,” Ryan says, shaking his head like he’s trying to dislodge the thoughts there and reaching for one of the menus on the table. “It’ll be worth it, right?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Shane agrees, grabbing the second menu. “Gold flakes out the wazoo, Ryan.”

Ryan laughs, that cackling one that means he really means it, and then sighs again.

“I bet Stevie never has to deal with this shit for Worth It.”

“Worth It doesn’t have its own channel.”

“Worth It has about five times the budget we do.”

“Worth It also has about five times the views we do.” Shane raises a pointed eyebrow, but grins when Ryan rolls his eyes.

“I know, I know. I’m just complaining.”

Shane hums his agreement and shrugs. “It’s what happens when you hang your hat on ghosts and unsolved crimes instead of food. Everybody’s gotta eat, but we’re… well.”

“An acquired taste?” Ryan suggests with a grin.

Shane grins back. “Exactly.”

“Well, Ruining History is going to smash it, you’ll see,” Ryan says.

Shane snorts a disbelieving laugh. “Your uncharacteristic optimism is appreciated.”

“No, I mean it. You made a great show, big guy. And people love history and weird anecdotes. Take the fucking compliment.”

“Alright, alright. No need to get violent.”

“That would negate the purpose of a compliment,” Ryan says, grinning like the brat he is.

Shane waves him off. “Yeah, yeah.”

Ryan shoots him a look that makes abundantly clear that he knows Shane’s deflections when he sees them, but, because he’s a good person and an even better friend, he’s going to let Shane off the hook.

"Okay, no more work talk at lunch. I'm going to go take a leak, but if the waiter comes by, can you order my usual for me?”

"One vegan lettuce bowl, got it," Shane teases with a grin.

Ryan grins back down at him, feral and menacing as he can manage to be while also smiling like he thinks Shane's hilarious. "Just try it.”

Shane raises his hands in a show of surrender and then watches Ryan's back as he weaves his way through the other tables towards the toilets. The waiter does actually show up while Ryan's gone, and Shane's only tempted for about five seconds to order something with far more vegetables than Ryan would want. It's almost commendable.

The way he watches Ryan make his way back over, laughing self-deprecatingly when he bumps into some lady who's getting up from her chair at just the wrong moment, is less so. Ryan's got a hand awkwardly scratching at the back of his head as he apologizes to her for what wasn't even his mistake in the first place, and even from all the way over where he's sitting, Shane can tell she gets immediately distracted by the way Ryan's shirt strains over the swell of his arm.

It'd be funny if Ryan were doing it on purpose, using his glorious arms for nefarious purposes, but Shane's almost willing to bet that Ryan doesn't even know he's doing it. At least not right now. And, look, Shane can't really blame the lady. The Bergara arms out in the midday sunshine, coupled with Ryan's sunshine smile? It's potent. He just wishes that he himself could maybe keep it together a little bit more, given that Ryan's his friend. Arms or no, Shane would really like his brain to remember that asap, so he can stop having these… moments. Ryan cosplays Indiana Jones once and suddenly Shane can’t stop thinking about the feeling of leather against skin and the breadth of Ryan’s shoulders? That’s just embarrassing.

Once Ryan rejoins him, groaning as he sits back down in his chair in a way that Shane is sure would scandalise someone’s Christian aunt at Thanksgiving dinner, it doesn’t take long for their food to arrive. Ryan starts in on a diatribe about something unforgivable or other Disneyland is currently in the process of doing, and Shane lets him rant his little heart out, content to slip back into one of their usual routines and just sit and listen.

Sometimes it’s just nice to let the ebb and flow of someone’s speech wash over him without much required input. Particularly when that someone is Ryan, who, on or off camera, is just a naturally engaging person. There’s a natural magnetism to him that doesn’t come from his scripts, a showboating-quality that is indeed the very thing that makes his scripts come alive so well. Not everybody could do that as well as Ryan does. He’s just easy and fun to listen to.

Some of that is probably just down to Shane, or Ryan-and-Shane. They’re friends, so of course Shane wants to give Ryan his attention. It’d be rather shitty if he didn’t. And even if Shane probably wouldn’t be able to pinpoint what came first - the friendship, or wanting to give Ryan as much of his attention as he can spare - he doesn’t think it really matters. They probably grew with and from each other, friendship and a natural inclination towards Ryan’s magnetic personality feeding each other mutually.

What matters is that they’re here now, with Shane perfectly content to sit and let Ryan vent as much as his heart desires. And if occasionally he looks more than listens, gaze getting caught on the bright white of Ryan’s teeth gleaming in his easy smiles, the capped sleeves of his shirt cutting right across his arms, or the movement of his chest when he laughs - well, Shane has eyes. He can’t exactly stop seeing what’s right in front of him, can he. And that’s  _ it _ .

**III. A sex dream is a wish your dick makes**

Shane has had sex dreams about Ryan before.

Or rather, he has had one sex dream about Ryan before, and it wasn’t even much of a sex dream. There had been none of the heat and the intimacy that make you wake up flushed and bothered and still in the throes of it, wishing your body and brain could have just held onto the dream for a few more minutes so you could have ridden it out to a blissful end.

No, Shane’s sex dream about Ryan had really only been a sex dream in so far as there had been sex, and it had been a dream. All he remembers about it is that dream-Ryan had insisted to Shane that blowjobs are much better when given by people who have dicks and thus know what to do with them, and, intending to prove as much to Shane, had cajoled him into bed and proceeded to put his money where his mouth is. Or rather his mouth where Shane’s dick is.

What stands out in Shane’s memory the most is the intense awkwardness he’d felt watching Ryan’s head bob between his legs and how it had done absolutely nothing for him. His dick had gotten softer the longer it went on, and trying to spare Ryan the embarrassment he’d mumbled something about being drunk and hightailed it out of Ryan’s apartment bare-assed and through the fourth floor window, because that’s the kind of thing that constitutes a reasonable decision in a dream.

Upon waking, Shane hadn’t been flushed and turned on, he’d been a little confused and a lot amused, so he’d told Ryan as soon as he’d seen him at work that day. It’d been just another strange, funny thing to share. Ryan dreams about a giant snake eating Shane sometimes and Shane apparently dreams about Ryan eating his giant snake sometimes. All things are fair in dreams.

This is not that kind of sex dream.

This is the proper kind. The kind that leaves you sweaty and frustrated and horny and really fucking embarrassed as you stare up at the immaculate white of your bedroom ceiling, trying valiantly to ignore the thrum of your arousal that sits in every inch of your body.

Shane takes a shuddering breath and runs a hand through his hair, trying not to remember any of the things his mind conjured for him in his sleep and failing about as miserably as someone trying not to think of a pink elephant when asked to do so.

He can still recall with punishing clarity the sparkle in Ryan’s eyes as he’d looked at him from behind his dark eyelashes, the way his skin had gone flushed with laughter and pleasure when their heads tilted closer together. Shane doesn’t remember what joke he told, only knows he did so because in the dream he’d been so happy to make Ryan laugh like he did, full-bellied and with his head thrown back, throat on display for Shane in a way that had made dream-him lean in to follow the line of it with the tip of his nose. He knows it wasn’t the first time dream-him did that either.

From then it’s all flashes of impressions; the feeling of Ryan’s tongue in his mouth, the heat of his hands on Shane’s waist, in his hair, against the backs of his knees when he’d held his legs open in an improbable stretch and----

Jesus Christ.

Shane pulls hard at his own hair and then a little harder still when it does the opposite of making the memories go away, before stretching his arms out to the side, palms down against the coolness of his sheets. It would be so easy to just give in and take himself in hand, to give himself a few minutes of touch to rid himself of the tension singing just under his skin while keeping his mind carefully blank. But he doesn’t want to tempt the fates in this case. He doesn’t know how he’d ever look Ryan in the eyes again if he’d actually gotten himself off with thoughts of his mouth and chest and dick in mind.

(If there’s one part of Ryan Shane’s never seen it’s his dick. But has that kept his imagination from painting an exceedingly clear dream-picture? Of course not.)

So instead, he very firmly tells his body to cut that out, and then waddles into the bathroom to have an at-best lukewarm shower before forcing himself through the rest of his morning routine. By the time he leaves for work, he has at least physically calmed down again, even if it feels like the memories of his dream sit just behind his most present thoughts, waiting for an opportunity to demand all of his attention again.

The day proves to be nothing short of torturous, with every little thing Ryan does or doesn’t do pulling a memory to the front of Shane’s mind that turns his whole through process inappropriate.

Ryan stretches his arms over his head? Shane will find his eyes zeroing in on the strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and jeans.

Ryan smiles at him? Shane remembers the sensation of it pressed against his own mouth.

Ryan says literally anything? Shane remembers the feeling of his voice rumbling low and intimate against his skin, and his breath hot by Shane’s ear.

Ryan, god forbid, gets a cup of boba on their lunch break, sucking at it through a straw? Well. Let’s just say the second attempt at dream-fellatio had gone better than the first, and Shane could really do without the mental images.

He gets absolutely nothing done all day, spending most of it strategically crossing his legs or holding his hands in his lap in meetings without tables to hide under, praying that no one will ask him about what the fuck is going on with him on this day. Ryan invites him for dinner and a movie when they make their way out of the office at the end of it, and Shane’s thoughts take such a nose dive down the gutter that he almost chokes on his own spit.

Ryan laughs and thumps him on the back, not at all helpful with neither the choking, nor the thoughts of Ryan’s hands all over him.

“You okay, buddy? You’ve been having a weird day,” he says. “Like, weirder than you usually are.”

“Just didn’t sleep that well,” Shane says, which he thinks shouldn’t count as a lie when his sleeping brain is at least what’s responsible for the weirdness, even if he did wake up well-rested.

“That’ll get ya,” Ryan agrees, because if there’s one thing he knows, it’s the various and sundry problems that can arise from having trouble sleeping. “Do you want me to take you home instead?”

Shane’s libido would very much like for Ryan to do that, but Shane’s sanity would prefer he take a lyft and then proceed to drown all memories of this day in alcohol in the safety of his own home until he can wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened in the first place. But there’s no good reason to turn Ryan’s offer down, and Shane’s nothing if not a huge masochist, apparently, so he accepts with the appropriate amount of gratitude and resigns himself to a half hour more of the torture of Ryan’s company.

It’s just rude, he thinks, how his own brain has turned spending time with one of his closest friends into something he finds himself wanting to avoid at all cost. Spending time with Ryan has always been something Shane’s enjoyed doing, ever since the first time they’d properly hung out, and he will not give it up without a fight. Once he gets out of this car, he’s going to exorcise these memories, or cram his head full of too many other thoughts to keep thinking them and when he wakes up tomorrow, he will have forgotten all about it and things can go back to normal.

For now, Ryan brings up a show they both have Opinions on and Shane even mostly manages not to watch the way Ryan’s face moves when he laughs or talks. He keeps his eyes firmly away from his fingers curled around the steering wheel, or his thighs spread comfortably on the driver’s seat, instead staring out stubbornly at LA’s traffic.

When they reach Shane’s apartment building, Ryan idles at the curb, watching Shane unbuckle the seatbelt and collect all his limbs to climb out of the car.

“Make sure you get some sleep, big guy,” he says, reaching out to squeeze Shane’s shoulder. “I need you at the top of your game, alright?”

It’s teasing as Ryan’s affection usually is, but there’s sweetness in his smile and Shane feels his own affection spark warm and bright in his chest, swelling up like a balloon.

“Thanks, yeah. I’ll go right to bed.”

Ryan laughs and puts his hand back on the steering wheel. “That’s what I like to hear. Now get out of here, sasquatch, we’re holding up traffic.”

They aren’t, but it’s as good a goodbye as any between them ever is, so Shane turns and half-stumbles out of the car, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he realised he was. He swings the door shut behind himself and then waves at Ryan through the window, dodging a woman pushing a stroller down the sidewalk as Ryan pulls away and back into traffic.

There’s a fleeting thought in his head about having Ryan join him in his apartment, sharing dinner and settling in on the couch for that movie Ryan suggested before retiring to bed together, skin warm and close in Shane’s bed. Shane stares after Ryan’s car and lets it play out for a moment before he catches himself remembering the feeling of Ryan’s mouth on his in his dream and wrenches his thoughts away from that road.

Right.

That.

He’s going to be forgetting about that post haste. He has a plan.

Once in his apartment, he puts on his favourite album, loud enough to be heard throughout the whole place and to sing along to, and then sets about actually cooking himself dinner. After that, he puts on a movie he’s been meaning to watch, and after that a second one, complete with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and the lights off to facilitate maximum immersion.

He doesn’t think about Ryan even once, not even when he turns everything off and makes his way first to the bathroom and then to bed. The movies are keeping his thoughts going, wondering about plot points and marveling at shot composition and especially good sound design. He’s annoyed enough friends by going on and on about film scores and sound design that it almost makes him laugh at himself.

He texts Ryan a thought he has while brushing his teeth because he knows he’ll have forgotten it by morning, but doesn’t bother waiting for a response when one doesn’t come immediately. Instead, he sets his alarm and slips into bed, already half asleep by the time he’s fluffed his pillow into the perfect shape and closed his eyes.

He gets about five seconds of blissful quiet, no thoughts in his head, on the highway to sleep town, when his mind suddenly brings up an image from last night’s dream and his entire body lights up like the night sky on the fucking fourth of July. Just, fireworks everywhere, every limb tingling with longing for a touch that won’t come and his mind suddenly wide awake again.

There’s the memory of the imagined touch of Ryan’s skin under his hand, and there’s the real memory of Ryan’s hand on his shoulder just earlier in the car. There’s the fake memory of Ryan’s laugh pressed to his neck and the real memory of Ryan’s laugh loud and brash in the canteen at work.

Shane tries to count up to and down from one hundred, tries to breathe, squeezes his eyes shut, hums his favourite songs to himself - but all to no avail. He feels like a cartoon character in a sinking ship, plugging up a hole in one place only for another to pop up right behind him, a jet of water hitting him in the ass. And, yes, he is  _ fully _ aware of the implications here.

His cock twitches alive between his legs at half-remembered and half-imagined images of Ryan overlap in his head, fantasies and memories of completely unrelated sexual experiences layering some extra flavour on top of the whole situation.

Shane is determined to just breathe and wait it out, stubbornly thinking back to the movies he watched earlier, the Ruining History edits he still has to work on, the next meeting for the new network that’s set for later this week. He can be a relentlessly stubborn asshole when he wants to be, but so, it turns out, can his body.

A frustrated glance at his phone reveals it’s more than just past the time he should be asleep so he won’t be a live zombie tomorrow morning, and he just can’t make his body and mind settle. And it’s so stupid that he’s been desperately denying himself a simple goddamn orgasm all day, isn’t it? All it would probably take is a little self pleasure and he’d be off to sleep in no time. He’s an adult, for fuck’s sake. If he doesn’t want to think about his friend’s dick splitting him open while he does it, he can just not do that! It’s not like it’s the only sexual thought Shane has ever had. There’s a whole repertoire of fantasies that have fuck-all to do with Ryan, or even dicks in the first place. Shane’s always enjoyed the simple complexity of eating pussy, so he lets himself think about that, and shifts his body so he can more easily slide his hand down into his boxers, hand warm around his quickly hardening dick.

It’s always easier to jerk off in the dark, Shane finds. Something about the lack of light and noise makes it easier to slip into his fantasy, to mix the memories of women he’s been with with the fantasies of women he hasn’t. To conjure up nameless bodies with tumbling locks of hair, curves that lead his hands and mouth over breasts and hips towards the apex of her thighs. The way her breath might hitch at the first touch. The satisfied hum when she starts to really get going. He sucks his lips into his mouth and licks them wet, gets his mouth sloppy as he thinks about the tangy, salty taste her slick might leave on his tongue.

His own heartbeat is beginning to pick up, but he makes himself stay quiet, doesn’t want to be pulled out of the fantasy he’s constructing. Her thighs over his shoulders strong and soft, barely any hair against the brush of his palms. She’s pressing back against him when he licks over her clit, cursing a little when he gets serious. Fingers running through or grabbing his hair, showing him how she likes it best.

He likes it best when she lets him take her time, lets him learn what she likes so he can draw it out for her, make it  _ really _ good. He doesn’t bother trying to imagine what she’d say to him, slips into that almost dream-like state where things just happen and are understood, where he knows she’s cursing him out and calling his name without the specifics actually happening.

She’d close her legs around his head, make it a little difficult to breathe for just a moment before she remembers not to do that. He’d stroke a hand up over her flat stomach to find a breast and tease at her nipple, give her something else to feel. Maybe follow his hand with his mouth when he puts the fingers of his other hand inside her, give her clit a moment’s rest.

He himself doesn’t really need anything else to feel, dripping over his own fingers and wound up tight already, a whole day of riding the line of denial and arousal catching up with him. It won’t take much more to make himself come, so he redirects his fantasy again, moves his mouth back over sharp hips and a firm stomach, dips his tongue into a belly button and then follows the trail of hair below it back to where his dick is already straining to meet him.

And okay, fine, whatever, Shane wasn’t married to thoughts of that pussy. He’s enjoyed sucking a dick or five in his time, and he’s so close anyway, so he just goes with it. Thinks about sliding his lips tight and wet over the head of his cock, the penny taste of precome on his tongue as he goes down further. He’d still have his fingers inside him, teasing and prodding him along on the way to orgasm. It’s a little harder to breathe with a dick in your mouth than a pussy, so maybe Shane would have to abandon that sweet little nipple and hold him down a little, just as a reminder. Just to make sure he stays polite and lets Shane have his fun with him.

The bones of his hips would be easy to find and fit into the palm of Shane’s hand like they’re made for it. Because inside his own head, they are. Sharp enough to be felt but not so much as to be worrisome. Golden skin hot and just a little sweaty, strong thighs with fine black hair shaking by his ears. He doesn’t bother trying to imagine what he’d sound like because he knows he can’t. He knows the voice in other contexts and he doesn’t want to spend any energy trying to shift the tone into this, knows it’ll mean acknowledging the shift that’s happened in his brain between one heartbeat and the next, and that just won’t do.

But honestly, so what? So fucking what? If he thinks about sucking Ryan’s dick for a few seconds before he comes in his own hand, what does that even mean other than that Shane’s got intrusive thoughts and a very recent, stupid sex dream swimming around in his head? He’s thought of much stupider things just as he’s come before. Doesn’t mean fucking toilet paper gets him horny just because he remembered to put it on his grocery list in the wrong moment.

So he lets it happen, lets the man underneath him take a shape that he knows - well, but not intimately - and squeezes his throat shut around any sort of noise or word that might want to find its way to the light of day as he comes.

For a few blessed seconds, there is silence in Shane’s head, just the rush of his orgasm running through his body and nothing else. Then he realises what he’s been thinking,  _ fantasising _ , about when he came, and crashes back down into reality hard.

Fuck.  _ Fuck. _

His hand is wet, and if he doesn’t do anything about that soon it’s going to stain his boxers, so he rolls over and gropes for a tissue in the dark, wiping his hand and trying hard not to let the last few zings at the contact steer his brain back into murky waters. He’s going to have to look at and talk to Ryan at work tomorrow. He’s going to have to pretend he didn’t come to thoughts of his best friend’s dick down his throat and honestly, it makes Shane roll over and fall right into sleep.

Fuck that mess, and fuck Shane’s brain for putting him there.

**IV. You’re too sexy for your shirt**

Life post-sex-dream continues surprisingly normally. It’s actually almost easier to look at Ryan after he jerked it to a fantasy of him than it was to look at him after it’d just been a dream. He’d entertain the idea that the orgasm was enough to flush the whole confusing interest out of his system once and for all, if it weren’t for how it feels like it’s opened the floodgates instead.

Suddenly almost every moment he’s around Ryan he finds himself noticing something about him that his brain suddenly deems worthy of being looked at.

The swell of his arms and the truly impressive planes of his chest and back, sure, but also the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. The way the late afternoon summer sunlight hits him like a deliberately placed set light meant to highlight all the most attractive features of his face, which might just be all of them. That big ol’ doink of a forehead Ryan occasionally gets self-conscious about? Shane has never heard of it. All he sees is symmetry and cheekbones, a soft-looking mouth and near-flawless skin. How the fuck is Ryan not the face of  _ something _ . Something other than an internet ghost hunting show, that is. Especially given he has to share that dubious honour with Shane’s own far less impressive face.

But aside from how Shane’s brain has decided that Ryan is a feast for his starving eyes, life is pretty easy. Or at least not any harder.

Shane’s had weird attraction-crushes on friends and colleagues before. It just happens sometimes, like some sort of cabin fever, where the cabin is your friendship, or your place of work. In Ryan’s case, it’s both, which probably means that Shane should have been having this crush a long time ago and it’s probably quite impressive he managed to stave it off until now.

After the first few times he’s caught his eyes getting stuck on whatever feature of Ryan’s body they’ve decided to pay closer attention to for later replay, he manages to reign that in and then it’s barely even background noise to his interactions with Ryan. They’re still friends. They still work together and hang out and go for lunch off premises so they can vent to each other about how frustrating work is getting and how much easier it might be if they could do things their own way - and remind each other how much harder it would be too, and that quitting is not a step to be taken lightly over some animation budget disagreements.

It’s only hard sometimes, when Ryan sports a particularly just-been-fucked looking bedhead after a late start in the morning, or when he makes one of his dumb satisfaction noises after a good meal.

And then when his washing machine breaks and he comes into work in khakis and a white dress shirt, ghoul boots on his feet and a cloudy look on his face that makes Shane almost want to check for a whip at his hip. It’s barely even a costume, would count as office-typical attire at almost any other office, but it’s not what Ryan usually wears. It’s something that Shane’s only seen him in on that goddamn treasure hunt that started all this, and apparently he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Going for a new look?” Shane teases when Ryan sits down, because he has to. There’s no way Ryan would dress like such a stick in the mud if there weren’t a little story behind it, which is how Shane learns that his washing machine broke.

“My washing machine broke,” Ryan grumples.

“Oh, shit. That sucks.”

Ryan grunts his agreement and sets the latte in his hand that Shane hadn’t even noticed before down next to his work station.

“I meant to go do some laundry at my parents’ place, but I kept putting it off and now all I’m left with is this stuff,” he grouses, gesturing to his own clothes. Shane can’t believe he managed to get through his entire, quite extensive, collection of literally all the other clothes he owns, but since he does also go to the gym, maybe this really is it. Or maybe this is whatever seemed the least awful of all that’s left.

Either way, Shane has to laugh at him a little bit, and when Ryan turns to glare at him, he lets his eyes slide all over him, pretending to be amused when really that’s not the predominant emotion he’s feeling at all.

“You know we’re going for network launch drinks after work, right?” Shane reminds him, just to see Ryan get even more frustrated.

“I know,” he whines. “That’s the only reason I’m not here in a jersey and short-shorts.”

Shane laughs again, and then turns away, pretending not to get distracted by the thought of Ryan in a pair of shorts that leave the bottom of his ass hanging out. Jesus, but the guy’s a menace.

Throughout the day, as he is wont to do, Ryan gets hot. He’s started out the day with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons at his neck undone, but when they go outside for lunch, sitting under a large umbrella with tacos from the truck two streets over, Ryan reaches up and undoes another two buttons, fanning some air against his newly exposed chest with the shirt. Shane stares just long enough to notice a very light sheen of sweat on Ryan’s skin, catch himself staring, and then studiously return his attention to his tacos.

He’s a good person. He really doesn’t deserve this.

“You good?” Ryan asks, and Shane makes the mistake of looking up, only to see him brush his hair out of his face, sleeve stretched over his arm, the opening at his chest gaping with the movement.

He’s got to be doing that on purpose, right?

“Uh, yeah.”

“You’ve been staring at your taco for, like, a minute without even touching it.”

Shane shrugs. “Got distracted. Oops.”

Ryan laughs and shakes his head at him, nudging Shane’s foot with his own. “You’re such a doofus.”

“Yep, that’s me,” Shane agrees, grabbing one of his tacos and taking a huge bite from it. “Shane ‘doofus’ Madej. My parents were going to make that my middle name, but they changed their minds last minute.”

“‘Alexander’ is probably better,” Ryan agrees, not even bothering to hide his wince when Shane speaks with his mouth full. Hypocrite.

Thankfully, he doesn’t undo any more buttons, and the afternoon passes without any further assaults on Shane’s tenuous grasp on his sanity. So much for this crush being easy to deal with.

It is, however, reliably easier to be around Ryan when there’s other company too; company that keeps at least a part of Shane’s attention off Ryan, and company that reminds Shane of what they are to each other - friends. They’re friends and co-workers, and when Katie and Devon practically drag them into the back of a lyft the very second the clock hits five pm, it’s easy to revel in that camaraderie. Sink into the comfortable familiarity of how they all function as a group and forget that the way he feels around Ryan these days has changed somewhat.

They go out for dinner first, because none of them are college kids anymore, and because all of them are hungry besides, taking over a large table on the patio of some mid-scale Korean barbecue place Shane’s pretty sure Steven recommended. The conversation never once falters for longer than it takes everyone to take a few bites and make appreciative noises about the food.

It’s a very good evening, and by the time they fall into yet another rideshare on the way to a bar that Shane doesn’t think he’s ever heard the name of, it’s beginning to turn into a very good night. It’s still warm out, because it’s summer in LA, and Ryan’s white shirt glows brightly in the light of the streetlamps. For a moment, Shane feels like a moth, drawn in closer helplessly to look and do his best not to touch, but then Katie grabs him by the arm and laughs as it makes him stumble, dragging him alongside her into the bar.

They fall into a haphazard heap in a corner booth here much the same way they’d fallen around a table at the restaurant, hours passing in a flurry of conversation and laughter and drinks. Devon and TJ leave first, but Mark isn’t far behind. Matty finds himself a girl and doesn’t leave so much as leave  _ them _ , but by the time Shane thinks to pull out his phone and check the time, it is already past midnight. He can’t even fault anyone for tapping out early.

It leaves just Ryan, Katie and him sitting around their booth, all three of them a little quieter now.

“I’m really proud of us, boys,” Katie says into the silence, stirring the ice cubes in her otherwise empty glass with her straw. “Like, look at what we all made! Our own sub-channel!”

“Katie,” Ryan says, eyes wide and soft with the kind of emotion he’s going to complain to them for having made him experience.

Katie laughs.

“No, honestly,” she insists. “You made a silly little niche interest into, like, a flagship video series.”

“We got lucky,” Ryan deflects.

Katie aggressively points at him with her straw, spraying a few drops of water across the table. “Absolutely not. You know as well as I do that this is the result of hard work, Bergara. Own it. I won’t have you belittling my work, or the team’s work, or your own work, for that matter.”

Shane laughs quietly. “Sheesh, Katie.”

“I mean it,” she says, threatening them both with her straw. “And I’m also a little bit drunk, but seriously, boys. I couldn’t be happier or prouder that I get to go along on this ride with you, alright?”

“Alright, alright, put down the straw,” Ryan acquiesces, laughing a little.

“Luck,” she grumbles. “I didn’t work my ass off for you to attribute this all to luck, Bergara.”

“No, you’re right, you’re right,” Ryan says and then slides along the both until he can pull her into a brief, semi-awkward sideways hug. “I’m gonna go piss, but how about one more round before we call it a night, huh?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Shane agrees. “We probably don’t need to worry about Matty.”

“How does the man do it?” Ryan wonders idly aloud, and Shane laughs and shrugs at him when their eyes meet.

“It’s the moustache,” Katie says, laughing loudly when they turn dubious looks on her in unison.

“I refuse to believe that,” Ryan says.

Katie laughs again. “Okay, fine, it’s not the moustache. Maybe he’s just putting himself out there more.”

Ryan shrugs and then slides back around the bench to get up from their booth. “Well, I’m gonna put myself out there all the way to the bar. More of the same, or do you guys want something different?”

“I’m good with another of these,” Katie says, waving him off lazily.

Shane nods too. “Sure, sounds good. Surprise us.”

Ryan knocks on the table and gives them a nod before turning on his heel, and Shane watches the back of his shirt - fuck, that man is practically dorito-shaped - vanish into the crowd.

“You thirsty?” Katie asks, and Shane snaps his head back around to look at her.

“What?”

“Thirsty. Are you? We should have asked Ryan to bring water too,” she says.

“Oh. Yeah, we should have.”

Katie snorts a laugh and then slumps to the side to lean against him.

“Getting tired, LeBlanc?” Shane teases, but shifts a little to accommodate her and make it easier for her head to lean against his shoulder.

“Yeah, you fuckers have kept me out past my bedtime,” she says, making Shane huff a laugh. “If I stay up any longer and drink any more, I’m gonna get all maudlin and emotional on you.”

“Oh, so this isn’t you being maudlin and emotional?”

“No, this is my normal setting of maudlin and emotional.”

Shane grins and then turns towards the bar, wondering if he should just get them some water while they wait for Ryan, but also unwilling to leave Katie by herself. Not that she’s not more than capable of looking after herself, or that she’s so drunk she needs chaperoning, but Shane feels cozy with her by his side like this and even if he’s not worried, he feels reluctant to even just create an opportunity where something unpleasant might possibly happen. They’ve been having such a good evening, he’s loath to risk it.

So he stays put and watches the crowd, sitting with Katie in companionable silence, until a waiter comes over to their table and sets down drinks in front of them with the words, “Your boyfriend said to just bring them right over.”

He’s clearly looking at Shane as he says it, but Shane, as far as he knows, doesn’t have a boyfriend.

“Uh, what?”

The guy halts, looking between the way Katie’s still slumped against him and Shane a little hesitantly, and then straightens back up before lifting a hand to indicate someone of about his height. “Yay high? Asian guy in a white shirt?”

Katie barks out a laugh next to him, and Shane clocks the third drink on the tray in the guy’s hand that must be Ryan’s.

“Sure, thanks,” he says, because he really doesn’t know what else to say, and then asks, “Could we also get some water, please?”

The guy sets the third drink down while Katie’s still giggling to herself and smiles at Shane sheepishly. “Sure, yeah. Sorry, if I…”

“No, no, it’s all good,” Shane assures him, and the guy grimaces a relieved smile before turning on his heel and making a beeline back towards the bar.

“Boyfriend!” Katie hiccups, delightedly. “I can’t believe that’s never happened before, now that I think about it.”

Shane decides now is not the time to tell her that it has, she just hasn’t been around for it, and merely shrugs at her.

“This made my whole night. Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything, but you’re welcome,” Shane says.

Katie hums and reaches for her drink, taking a sip from it. “You’re right, I’m gonna have to thank Ryan when he gets back.

“Thank Ryan for what?” the man himself asks, slipping back into their booth opposite them. “Oh, hey, the drinks are here already.”

He reaches for his own and lifts it in a half-hearted cheers to the two of them, before taking a drink that absolutely does not draw Shane’s attention to the movement of his throat, or where his shirt is still gaping open over his chest.

“Thank you for the evening’s entertainment,” Katie says.

Ryan sets the drink down, frowning at her in confusion, but his lips are curled into half a smile too. “What did I do?”

“Whatever you said to that bartender that made him think you were sending drinks over to your boyfriend,” Katie explains. “You should have seen Shane’s face! I swear for a second he was trying to figure out if he somehow managed to forget about having a boyfriend.”

“I was not,” Shane protests immediately.

Ryan, however, laughs a sheepish laugh and scratches the back of his head.

“Sorry about that. Though I really don’t know what I did.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shane says, waving him off much the same way he did the waiter earlier.

“Well, ghouldfriends or boyfriends, here’s to the fucking channel we launched and the many more videos we’ll shoot. May they rake in the views,” Katie says, faux-sombre, raising her glass.

Shane laughs and raises his own glass to meet hers, Ryan lifting his to join them.

“Hear, hear,” he says. His eyes meet Shane’s for a moment, gaze shifting into something warm and intimate, and Shane tilts his head at him in acknowledgement. Ryan nods back, grin widening before he takes another drink.

More of Ryan - working with Ryan, ghoulfriends and friends with Ryan, whatever it is - is certainly something Shane can toast to.

He drinks too.

And if he goes home and jerks off about it, that’s neither here nor there. It’s only once it happens a third time that it becomes a pattern and thus, a problem. That’s definitely how that works. It’s basically science.

It’s all good. Shane has got it handled.

**V. You can leave your hat on**

Ryan’s washing machine eventually gets fixed and he goes back to wearing things that aren’t indecently unbuttoned shirts. It does wonders for Shane’s mental state, and that’s not even an exaggeration. The new channel continues to do quite well, and summer passes in a pleasant, if busy, haze.

Sometimes Shane thinks his crush may be fading when he hasn’t caught himself staring at Ryan in a few days, but then he usually realises it’s just because he hasn’t  _ caught _ himself doing it anymore, not because he stopped doing it all together. This crush, far from fading, seems to have settled in for the long haul. Shane thinks that’s absolutely ridiculous, but after a few weeks of deliberately looking at other attractive people whenever he happens upon them doesn’t do anything to shake it either, he decides there’s nothing to do but grin and bear it.

Eventually, all crushes fade. All Shane has to do is wait it out.

So that’s what he does.

In the meantime, he’s not about to let his own stupid feelings ruin his fun, so he still goes to see movies with Ryan, texts him way too late at night, and, on this very beautiful early fall day, meets him at Knott’s Berry farm for an early Knott’s Scary Farm experience. Shane’s not usually one for stretching Halloween into late September, but even before this whole crush situation he hasn’t been able to say no to Ryan nine cases out of ten when he turned that bright smile and those big eyes on him.

So he’s here by the turnstiles, waiting for Ryan and scrolling through twitter while he does it. Ryan doesn’t bother to announce himself when he arrives, just steps up close enough to Shane that it makes him look up, and grins his happy theme park grin at him.

“Alright there, big guy?”

Shane laughs, taking in the jeans, the t-shirt, and the hat perched on Ryan’s head. It’s the Indiana Bergara hat, he’s quite sure of it, but divorced from the rest of the outfit and coupled with Ryan’s theme park enthusiasm, it doesn’t have quite the same effect.

“Yeah, I’m doing good,” he says, slipping his phone back into his pocket and then gesturing at Ryan’s hat. “You?”

“Peachy,” Ryan grins. “You’re always going on about your dad-at-a-theme-park-hat, so I thought I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

“You look like a doofus,” Shane says. He kind of does, even. The hat stands out from the otherwise aggressively normal and maybe even a little fashionable jeans-with-rips-at-the-knees and a printed t-shirt combo like a sore thumb. It’s not the best outfit Ryan’s put together recently, and Shane has somewhat involuntarily become a bit of an expert on when Ryan looks his best.

“Yeah, we match now,” Ryan beams, laughing when Shane fakes affront.

“How dare you, sir,” Shane complains, and pretends to stride off towards the entrance, making Ryan jog a few steps to catch up with him again. Still, when Ryan nudges him with his elbow, Shane can’t help but grin back. They do probably look like matching doofuses. It’s not the worst thought.

Ryan insists on getting food first, since it’s still light out and the proper spook experience won’t start until after dark, so they do that. Shane gamely follows Ryan’s lead, letting him blabber away about the history of the park he loves so much and even refraining from pointing out he’s heard most of this before in some form or another - and not just the once.

The only thing he refuses to indulge Ryan in are the roller coaster rides, especially with hot dogs and beer sloshing around in his belly. They were actually quite tasty, and he’s really not looking to ruin that experience for himself by meeting them again far too soon. Instead, he holds Ryan’s hat for him and waits for him to take his turn, laughing a little when Ryan comes off the ride beaming, his face flushed with pleasure.

“You’re missing out, dude,” Ryan says, but Shane just shrugs and hands the hat over.

“I’m good on the ground, thanks.”

Ryan runs his hand through his hair and then sets the hat down onto it deliberately, smiling up at Shane indulgently. For all their mutual ribbing, there are some things they usually leave out of bounds. Shane’s genuine discomfort with the idea of roller coasters being one of them.

“Suit yourself,” Ryan says, and it’s then, looking at him in his stupid hat, with his stupid grin, with the stupid evening sunlight hitting him just so in a way that makes Shane itch for a camera, that his heart does a little flip.

A stupid little flip like it’s a goddamn pancake. Soft and sweet and fluffy and fried to golden perfection when Ryan’s smile flips it over to cook on the other side.

Fucking hell, it’s not about Ryan’s arms and chest and stupid Inidiana Bergara outfit at all, is it? This stupid fucking crush isn’t friendship cabin fever, it’s not slightly too intense appreciation of an objectively attractive friend. It’s a whole actual situation. A  _ feelings _ situation. 

“Well, then,” Ryan says as the sun dips down towards the horizon, still radiant and devastatingly handsome, even looking like the theme park dork he is. “Let’s go find us some spooks, shall we?”

Shane stands there, pancake heart in his hands all served up on a plate with butter and syrup, and nods.

“Absolutely. You promised me spooks, Ryan. I will not leave here until I’ve been thoroughly spooked.”

Ryan laughs, and instead of calling it mission accomplished and turning on his heel, Shane makes himself grin and follows Ryan deeper into the park.

Yep. He’s fucked.

**+I. All Hallow’ed be thy costume**

The fact that Shane’s surprised by seeing Ryan show up to the office Halloween party in his Indiana Jones getup is, admittedly, his own fault. That’s absolutely on him. He should have seen that coming. And technically, maybe, the way he feels about seeing Ryan in it again months later is also on him. It’s rude to blame other people for the crushes you have on them, probably.

But Ryan doesn’t need to be swaggering around like that. He didn’t need to unbutton the shirt down almost all the way to his belly button either, did he? He doesn’t have to play the cocky character going along with the outfit, breaking out into his own free laughter every other moment because there’s really not a hair on Ryan Bergara’s head that’s ever anything other than disarmingly charming. He can’t keep the pretense up for longer than a few sentences anyway, but seeing him put the attitude on the same way he does the costume is… also disarmingly charming.

So far, ever since his revelation at Knott’s, Shane has found a strange sort of zen in the knowledge that he’s utterly fucked when it comes to Ryan. His plan to hunker down and ride it out until the crush fades has moved from a timeline of a few months to an open-ended, plaintive sort of hope that Shane won’t have to live with this for an open-ended number of years. It hasn’t been long enough yet to have worn him down, to make him feel desperately lonely and trapped in this one-sided attraction, but tonight might change that.

Ryan just looks so good. It’s not even just the costume, it’s the way he’s having so much fun with it, all smiles and effusive gestures, giving everyone he speaks to his full attention. Shane knows first hand how good Ryan’s attention feels, and that’s not even just the crush speaking.

So he hangs back for a while, drink in hand, to try and collect himself. He needs a plan of attack, some barricades to put up around his pancake soft heart. He lets himself get roped into a conversation about cats with Andrew and Niki, follows them to the open bar when they get refills, and then makes himself drift from one group of colleagues to the next, hoping against hope that so long as he keeps moving, Ryan won’t catch up to him.

He knows it’s a vain hope, of course. He can’t exactly avoid Ryan the whole evening without it being a thing of note, and if there’s one thing Shane’s even less enthused by than having to face Ryan when he’s feeling this off-kilter, it’s having other people notice and talk about it.

Still, it takes a surprisingly long time for Ryan to come find him, leaning against the bar while he waits his turn.

“Howdy, pardner,” Ryan says, tipping his hat at Shane and grinning up at him.

“Dr. Jones,” Shane replies, tipping his own hat.

Ryan laughs.

“You love that stupid game way too much.”

Shane shrugs, unrepentant, and then gestures at Ryan’s own costume. “Does that mean you love these films way too much? Or that you’re just too lazy to get a new costume?”

“How very dare you, sir,” Ryan says, eyes twinkling with mirth. “A very nice lady told me I look good in this.”

“Oh, that’s why you’re wearing it? Because a middle-aged woman said you pull it off? If that’s what you’re into, I guess…” Shane says. “Maybe she’d take you up as her boytoy.”

Ryan laughs, eyes crinkling. “God, no. She was nice, but I don’t think I’m suited to that life.”

“The polyamorous one?”

“The boytoy one, I meant,” Ryan says. “But maybe that too. Never thought about it, to be honest.”

Shane shrugs. “Yeah, me either.”

“Wait, was she poly?” Ryan then asks, turning to Shane to frown at him. “The woman at the B&B?”

“Uh, yeah,” Shane laughs. “Her husband literally went to see his boyfriend while we were checking in.”

“Oh, I must have missed that,” Ryan says with a shrug. “Well, good for them.”

Shane laughs quietly, but hums his agreement. Definitely good for them.

“So, where’ve you been all evening? If you weren’t a hundred feet tall I wouldn’t even know you’ve been here a while,” Ryan says.

Shane shrugs again. “I’ve been around. Chatting. You know me, always a social butterfly.”

“Sure, yeah. That’s what you are. Shane ‘Butterfly’ Madej,” Ryan says with a snort. “You’re going to end up in one of your own glass cases one of these days.”

“What in the world does that mean?” Shane laughs.

Ryan grins at him, teeth flashing in the low light. “You know what it means.”

Shane really doesn’t, but sometimes he suspects neither does Ryan, and he figures not everything really needs an explanation.

“Okay, well, if you’ve got your serial killer tendencies back under control, Ricky, what’s your poison tonight?”

Ryan turns to the bartender looking at them expectantly and rattles off his drink order with a smile, and Shane just asks for one of the same when she turns to look at him. For a moment, neither of them say anything, instead surveying the crowd of their colleagues and friends, half of whom are probably already past just a little tipsy.

“You do look good, though,” Ryan says then. “In this, I mean.”

Shane turns to him, one eyebrow raised in question. “Oh?”

Ryan shrugs. “Yeah. Works with your height, somehow. I feel like you should look even more like a ridiculous taffy-man than usual like this, but it works.”

“Uh, thanks,” Shane says, feeling the back of his neck and his cheeks crawl with heat. “You too. I mean, the middle-aged poly-am lady was right. You pull it off.”

Ryan laughs and bumps their shoulders together. “Thanks, man. I know how much that cost you to say.”

Shane really doubts that, and playfully rolls his eyes at him. “I’m perfectly in touch with my emotions.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware you had emotions about this costume,” Ryan teases.

Shane nudges him with his elbow. “You know what I mean.”

Ryan laughs again, and then turns to grab their drinks from the bartender with a polite ‘thank you’. He hands Shane his glass and then clinks them together gently before taking his first sip.

“So, how has your evening been so far?” he asks, fully aware that he’s being a little brat and that Shane will almost definitely indulge him anyway.

“Spiffing, old sport, and yourself?”

Ryan laughs, dropping it and taking another drink and then launching into an anecdote he’s heard earlier in the evening. Shane doesn’t really feel like he’s built up any defenses in the time he’s spent avoiding Ryan, but he follows Ryan to a bar table anyway, leaning against it and falling into their usual kind of conversation so easily he doesn’t even really notice how much time passes with them just standing there, chatting, until he notices that the crowd has started to thin a little.

“Want to go see if there’s any of the buffet left?” Ryan suggests, and since they’ve had about three drinks each, Shane supposes that’s not a bad idea.

The buffet’s set up in the next room over, and there are a few stragglers littering the hallways too, but when they find themselves some plates and raid the last morsels of what is mostly cupcakes and bite-sized tacos, Ryan leads them through an open patio door into an outside area Shane wasn’t even aware was there. Neither are many other people, apparently, because it’s only the two of them out here. The air is nice and cool, but still not cold in a way that’ll probably never not surprise Shane. He’s lived in LA for years now, but it still sometimes makes him do a bit of a double take when it’s October, and he’s fine in just a long-sleeve shirt or maybe a light jacket.

Ryan grabs them a few pillows off some benches and unceremoniously dumps them onto the floor, giving them something to sit on while they lean back against the side of the building, plates of food balanced in their laps. For a while, they eat in silence, and Shane wonders if he should pull out his phone to see what time it is. He kind of likes not knowing. It makes the night feel much more endless if he doesn’t know how far into it they are. It’s still dark enough that it’s definitely not the early morning yet, and since tomorrow is Saturday and he doesn’t have to go into work, it’s not like it matters, really. He can just let the night stretch out before him seemingly endlessly and enjoy the feeling of being in a perpetual moment of present-ness.

“You’ve got your thinking face on,” Ryan says.

Shane hums his agreement.

“So, what are you thinking about?”

“How not knowing what time it is makes every moment feel endless.”

Ryan makes a noise half surprise, half amusement, and when Shane turns to look at him, he looks all bewildered. “Did you get a weed brownie?”

Shane laughs and jostles him with his elbow. “Fuck off.”

Ryan laughs, but then sighs and slumps a little more against the wall.

“Nah, I get it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like, if you can’t see where the ending is, then is there even one?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Shane says. “Weird liminal space shit.”

Ryan makes a noise in agreement and they lapse back into silence. Shane tries to look for stars up in the night sky, but it’s a little cloudy and the light pollution probably wouldn’t let him see anything even if it weren’t. It’s odd, that. How much more oppressive a cloudy or murky night sky can seem, when you can’t see all the way to far off suns.

So he turns and looks at Ryan. Ryan’s still looking at the sky, maybe trying to see the clouds well enough to make out shapes in them, but Shane traces his gaze along the tilt of Ryan’s chin, the dark shadow of his stubble along his jawline. The way his hat has slipped back a little too far and his hair sticks out in wild, dark tufts. The bulk of his leather jacket and those khakis. The unbuttoned shirt.

It’s odd, how only some pieces of clothing can make Ryan look simultaneously so very much like and unlike himself.

“Hey,” Ryan says, looking back down from the sky at Shane. “I’m going to be sappy for a minute, okay?”

“Oh, boy,” Shane jokes.

Ryan’s lips twitch, trying to suppress a smile.

“I’m glad I get to do this with you,” he says, gaze steadily holding Shane’s. “If you ever want to try and see if we can do this, but on our own, I’m down.”

Shane feels himself freeze under the enormity of the sentiment, momentarily too surprised to even return it.

Ryan smiles at him, like he gets it.

“Did I break you?”

“A little,” Shane says. He’s really not sure how to handle Ryan saying these things to him, and looking at him like that, all the while looking  _ like that _ . He wants to try everything with Ryan that Ryan will let him. There’s a well of yearning in his chest that Ryan could never empty, no matter how many buckets he sinks down into it.

“Right back at you,” he finally says. “You know that, right?”

Ryan nods, still smiling. “Yeah, I know that, big guy.”

That’s good. “Good,” Shane says, and then, since they’re being emotionally open and what not, decides to tack on, “Hey, can you do me a favour?”

Maybe Ryan will just let him get away with this, if he’s feeling sentimental enough.

“Sure,” Ryan says immediately, frowning a little. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, peachy. It’s nothing like that,” Shane says, waving him off. “Just… please don’t ever wear this costume again.”

“Rude,” Ryan says, like a reflex, even as he laughs. Shane makes himself laugh too, but he must be doing it wrong, because suddenly Ryan stops, eyes going a little wide.

“Wait, you’re serious? Why?” he asks, and Shane realises the idea that Ryan might let him get away with something he hasn’t yet explained was a ludicrous one. Of course Ryan wants to know why. He’s Ryan.

“Don’t ask me that, please,” Shane says, dropping Ryan’s gaze.

“You realise that’s a really weird thing to ask me, right?”

“Yeah, I realise,” Shane says, still not looking up. “Forget it, okay? I’m just being weird.”

“I’m not going to just-- like, why? It’s not offensive, I don’t think,” Ryan says, and when Shane looks up at him, fond and amused, he’s looking down at himself, like he’s trying to find a clue in the clothes themselves.

“No, of course it’s not offensive, beyond the, like, racism and the problematic nature of the treasure hunting bits and such,” Shane says.

Ryan rolls his eyes at him. “Yeah, doy.”

“Just forget it; I’m being silly,” Shane says. “Hey, let’s go back to this idea of us branching off. Have you actually been thinking about that?”

“I have, yeah,” Ryan says, like that’s not monumental news, but then frowns at Shane. “But you don’t get to distract me from this. Like, you realise the more you try to deflect, the weirder this whole thing is?”

Shane sighs, and rubs a hand over his face, suddenly wishing he knew what time it was after all. This moment isn’t a particularly fun one to spend all eternity in.

“Look,” he says. “Since we’re doing the emotional honesty thing, I’m going to tell you. But please just… trust me that it’s not an issue, okay? I’ve got it handled.”

Ryan, predictably, does not look calmed by this caveat.

“Dude, seriously, are you okay?”

“Yeah, Ryan, I’m seriously fine,” Shane says, laughing a little. “I’ve just got a little bit of a crush situation going on, alright? It’s not… you don’t have to worry about it. Just, so you know. And maybe you can go a little easy on me, huh?”

It’s Ryan’s turn to freeze now, and Shane watches the gears turn frantically in his head, smiling to himself despite the equally frantic beating of his heart and the vague sense of doom niggling at the back of his head. He wants to think their friendship is stronger than this, but you never really know until you put it to the test, do you.

“A crush situation,” Ryan finally repeats. “You… me?”

Shane shrugs helplessly and nods.

“Wait,  _ this  _ is doing it for you?” Ryan adds, full of blustering confusion. “But it’s so dorky!”

Shane snorts a laugh. “Yeah, well, I like ‘em dorky, Bergara.”

“You’re a dork,” Ryan says, a reflex of a rejoinder that makes Shane grin anyway. Ryan’s not wrong anyway.

“You’re not wrong.”

“You’re a dork, and you like me,” Ryan repeats. “And you chose to tell me by insinuating… what, this costume is too hot for you to handle?”

Shane feels his face flush and he groans, turning away and closing his eyes.

“Can you not rub it in, please?”

“I absolutely cannot,” Ryan says immediately. “That doesn’t even make any sense. We’ve been friends for years, and  _ this _ is what…?”

“I’m sorry,” Shane says, shoulders hunching a little.

“No, for fuck’s sake, don’t be sorry,” Ryan says, and then there’s suddenly a weight on his legs and hands on his cheeks in a touch so gentle it surprises Shane into opening his eyes.

Ryan’s looking at him with a kind of wonder in his face that Shane doesn’t think he’s ever seen there before.

“Don’t be sorry,” he repeats. “I like ‘em dorky too, you dork.”

And then, just in case there’s still any part of Shane that has any idea about what’s going on, Ryan leans in and kisses him. It doesn’t go particularly smoothly, because they’re both wearing hats, and those bump into each other far before they’re anywhere near kissing distance, but Ryan doesn’t let it deter him, just sweeps his own hat back off his head and leans in further until his mouth presses against Shane so very gently.

Shane makes a noise he’s not particularly proud of, and flinches away, breaking the kiss after barely a second or two of contact.

“Sorry,” he says reflexively, because he didn’t exactly want to stop kissing Ryan, but-- “Really?”

“Did I not just say I wanted to run away with you?” Ryan says, undeterred. His eyes are still fixed to Shane’s mouth, his hands warm on the sides of his face, but Shane feels like he’s run a marathon and can’t catch his breath. He’s about as likely to climb a podium as he is to collapse dead at Ryan’s feet.

“In business,” Shane protests.

“Well, you can hardly blame me for not knowing anything else was on the table.”

“That’s fair,” Shane agrees, and then finally lets his hands reach for Ryan in return, settling them over the thin fabric of his shirt covering his sides, inside the warmth of his leather jacket. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a menace.”

Ryan grins, small and delighted, and leans a little closer until his nose brushes against Shane’s, and Shane can feel it when he speaks.

“Not so bad yourself, cowboy.”

They really are a pair of dorks, Shane thinks, and then stops thinking altogether when Ryan kisses him again.

It goes much better that time, with Ryan’s hat already out of the way and Shane not quite as surprised as the first time. Though when Ryan reaches up to get rid of his hat too, Shane doesn’t protest, and when he slides one hand up to reach for the back of Ryan’s neck to hold him steady like that, that’s not too shabby either.

Ryan’s breathing sounds soft in his ears, the quiet of the night still unbroken around them. Ryan’s fingers are just as soft on his face, slowly slipping further back to tangle in his hair and gently follow the curves off the shell of his ear. It makes him shudder, and that in turn makes Ryan smile into the kiss.

Shane’s so suddenly and vividly reminded of his dream that he keens a noise and grabs Ryan more tightly, holding him firm in his perch on Shane’s thighs. Ryan groans in response, fingers going a little more tight in Shane’s hair, body moving as though he thought about rocking closer and didn’t dare. Shane’s not sure he could get much closer, what with the wall at Shane’s back, but there are ways to remedy that. It’s just that when he tries to think of them, he gets distracted by the sensation of Ryan’s lips on his and his body under his hands. The way he moves into Shane’s touch when he puts a hand inside the gaping opening of his shirt to find his way to hot skin.

“I can’t believe--” he tries to say, but Ryan cuts him off with another kiss.

“Believe it,” he says in between kisses. “I know it’s hard for you--”

Shane laughs and swallows the rest of whatever smartass remark Ryan was going to make with a kiss of his own. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Ryan dares, eyes glinting wickedly in the dark when Shane pulls back to look at him.

“I’m trying,” he says, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

“Then try harder,” Ryan grins back, gasping when Shane pinches at his nipple inside his open shirt.

It stops him talking when Shane rubs his thumb over it, sure, but it doesn’t exactly shut him up. And while they may be the only people outside here right now, they’re definitely not the only people left at this party. If there’s one thing that Shane knows about parties in LA, it’s that they always spill outside sooner or later as the night goes on, so they probably really shouldn’t be doing this here. Shouldn’t be doing this anywhere at a party full of their colleagues, probably, but Shane’ll be damned if he stops now.

Ryan’s moving into the touch of his hand so beautifully, and there are, after all, other ways for Shane to shut him up. So he leans in for another kiss and lets his second hand drop too, undoing the rest of Ryan’s shirt buttons before running his palms up and down over his chest.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ryan mumbles into his mouth. “Wanted you---”

He trails off into more kisses before he can finish the thought, but even just that fragment burns through Shane like fire. _ Wanted. _ God, how long has Ryan--? But it doesn’t matter; not right now. Not when Shane’s more than busy trying to keep up with Ryan, trying  _ harder _ .

Ryan starts rocking under Shane’s hands, hips moving slow but steady. He’s still too far back to rock against anything but air, but it makes Shane drop his hands down to the waistband of his pants and then lower, feeling out the bulge of Ryan’s cock beneath them while he groans into this mouth. Ryan moves into the touch, shameless in how he seeks it out. It makes it easy for Shane to pull at his belt and then the button on his fly, undoing it all so he can slip a hand inside.

“God, Ryan, we’re in public,” he admonishes when Ryan rocks into the touch more urgently, dick warm and full through the fabric of his underwear.

“You’re the one with your hand down my pants,” Ryan points out. It’s a fair point, but Shane’s not here to play fair, so he kisses Ryan again and then adjusts his hand so he can get a better feel for the shape of him.

They both make soft little noises of shock when a trickle of precome soaks through Ryan’s boxer briefs, wetting Shane’s fingers, but neither of them make any move to stop where this is going. Shane spares barely a moment to think about how absurd this whole situation is, because then Ryan’s hips move again, rolling into Shane’s touch, and he doesn’t care.

He tries to keep up with Ryan’s kisses, but he’s never been particularly good at multitasking, especially when he’s not even sure what he wants to be doing. He wants to get Ryan off right here and now and wants to take him home. Lay him out on a bed and take his time, learn every one of his reactions before he pushes him over the edge. He wants to make him come fast and hard and do it all over again as many times as Ryan will let him.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ryan curses, voice quiet and sharp as Shane squeezes a little more firmly. “I’m--”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Shane to guess at the meaning. He can’t believe that a little over the clothes pawing at him has Ryan feeling that desperate, but on the other hand, Ryan hasn’t touched him at all yet and Shane can already feel his own dick pulse hotly between his legs, begging for any kind of touch. It makes him move his hand faster, wanting more than anything to feel Ryan come under his touch.

Ryan doesn’t make him wait long, lips shut tight against any noise that might escape him, shuddering under Shane’s touch, his release wet and sticky through the fabric. Shane doesn’t envy him having to deal with that and leans back in to suck Ryan’s tongue into his mouth until they’re just panting against each other.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Shane says, voice barely above a whisper. “Come on, Ryan, let me take you home.”

“Only if you’re not making me say goodbye to anyone,” Ryan says.

Shane laughs and leans in to wrap his arms around Ryan’s waist, nuzzling into the side of his neck. “I’d never.”

Ryan’s arms come up to wrap around Shane in return. For a few moments, all they do is bask in the feeling of holding each other, and when Ryan pulls back, he takes Shane’s face into his hands again to press a sweet kiss to his mouth, almost incongruous with how he’s still perched on his thighs, a vision of complete dishevelment, while Shane’s trying his best to ignore the ache between his own legs.

“Let’s go,” Ryan says. “The night might be endless, but I’m not getting any younger.”

Shane laughs and watches Ryan get up, grabbing the hand he holds out to him and pulling himself up from the ground with it. No night is actually endless, but when Ryan shifts his grip on Shane’s hand so he’s holding it rather than just holding Shane steady, he finds he doesn’t mind. Right now, hand in hand, the thought of a morning, and many more after that, is rather exciting, actually.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I too am a massive dork. The secret is out.


End file.
